


A Morbid Fairytale

by gidget_84



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sleeping Beauty, Dreams, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Illusions, Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:50:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gidget_84/pseuds/gidget_84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 2 AU</p><p>Lydia continued to have dreams of Peter, and slowly the younger version of him stopped coming to her altogether.</p><p>______________________________________________________________________________________</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Morbid Fairytale

 

Lydia continued to have dreams of Peter, and slowly the younger version of him stopped coming to her altogether.

———-

She missed his younger half; his simplicity, his sweet gestures, and the fact that he was a boy and _not_ a man.

Sure she had thought about being with older men, maybe they would even be experienced enough to handle her; she can’t count the number of times she ogled Allison’s dad when she thought he wasn’t looking. There was something about him too, some underlying secret, something dangerous just below the surface. Thinking that only caused her to fantasize about him more.

———-

Until _he_ appeared; until Peter the _real_ Peter, started to invade her dreams.  Then it was like Mr. Argent, who?

———-

Hell, it was almost time for her to graduate from this less-than-stellar high school and go on to college; hopefully somewhere that actually intellectually challenged her.

She was tired of knowing _every_ answer to every question; just once she might actually like to study or not know the answer at all—-heh, maybe when hell froze over.

———-

Her dreams of Peter were no longer only kisses and touches. They were still intimate, but now he seemed more restless, less at peace than he usually was when he was with her.

———-

Young Peter used to show her the gorgeous house; the older version showed her the ruins it had become. She could almost cry for the amount of damage, the sheer monstrosity of someone burning that beautiful house down.

———-

Every night he showed her a new door, maybe a new room, a new entry way; the burnt furnishings of a house forgotten when consumed by flames.

As they got closer to the basement, she would feel dread creeping up her spine; she knew something was down there, something that pulled at her like a magnet.

———-

The closer they got after finally opening the basement door and going down the stairs, the more she felt like something or someone was there.

A presence that she had mostly attributed to Peter, who had guided her every footstep and her every move.

But this was something different; a ghostly voice speaking to her incessantly in murmurs and whispers.

When she clamps her hands over her ears to drown out the pitiful voice, Peter would only look at her, a slow smile coming to his lips.

———-

Every night, they got closer to the source of the voice, closer to a seemingly empty spot on the floor; no old furniture covering it up.  Just old floorboards that tried to hide something she knew must be sinister underneath; the speaking had turned into wailing and crying the closer they got.

———-

One night she finds herself instantly in that spot, alone. No Peter to guide her through the empty shell of the house. It’s then that she hears the smallest of sounds; the smallest cry for help she’s ever heard.

She feels like her body has a mind of its own, as she gets on hands and knees and tries to pry the rickety floorboards loose with her hands. The only sound she can hear is of someone saying “Please, dear God, please help me”, followed by sobbing. Tears run down her face as she claws at the floor desperately, saying “I’m here, I will help you. I will set you free!”

———-

She can barely get her fingernails underneath the edges of at least one floorboard, but it’s so old that it lifts and almost crumbles apart in her hands. The nails used are rusted and brittle, and her hands are a bloody mess when she finally gets enough of the floorboards lifted and off; tossed carelessly into a corner.  She doesn’t need to take off anymore; the being inside looks tiny and hunched over. Closed in on itself as if trying to ward off the flames of hell that continually washed over him in this prison.

She already knows it’s _him_ ; has always known he was a part of whatever this was going on with her.

Before, she could blame the hallucinations and dreams on psychosis; but she’s known since young Peter left, and the real Peter, _her_ Peter showed her the ruined house. She’s always known there was something that he wanted, something that he wanted to show her, something he wanted her to do.

———-

He appears exactly as he had before; before the dreams started and she initiated a romance with a dead man.

Charred face, hair burnt off, body nothing more than a pile of bones with flesh like that of a desiccated mummy; bits and pieces of skin torn here and there.

———-

She surprised herself by not being sick right there upon the floor; just from the noxious smell of burnt flesh.

———-

She had to get him out of there, had to free him from this place of death and destruction. Never even questioning why he had stopped calling for help, why he did not speak anymore at all.

———-

Lying on her stomach, she reaches for him, her hands going under his armpits and pulls him up; up and out of his cage.

She laid him out upon the floor, wanting to touch him but knowing all she touched came away with her hands; burnt pieces of skin flaking off, bits and pieces of the clothes he still wore.

———-

Sitting down next to his body she wondered at her own strength; not physically as he had been so very light, but emotionally. Anyone else would be rocking in the corner, closing their eyes and praying for it all to end. But she knew this was only the beginning.

———-

In fairy tales the prince kissed the princess and she awoke from her dreamless slumber; in others a kiss from a person's true love brought a person back to life. She didn’t really believe in either of those things, but she was here with him, the _real him_.  She could finally kiss the _true_ lips she had tasted for months in her dreams.

Her face still wet with tears, she leans over and places a kiss on his lips; a single tear dropping from her face and onto his cheek.  The moment she sits back, he opens his eyes and she wakes up gasping for air. Her hands come up, feeling the wetness on her face and fingers coming away from her lips with smudges of ash.

———-

In the Hale house, screaming can be heard, as a hand punches through an old floorboard.

———-

Beauty had indeed awakened the Beast today.

 


End file.
